


Entanglement

by Astrarian



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bath Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Shameless Smut, The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23698918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrarian/pseuds/Astrarian
Summary: After liberating Philippa Eilhart from the bathhouse, Triss takes Philippa to her room at the Chameleon, where she can explain in private why they need Philippa's help. Talking isn't all they do.(Post Blindingly Obvious.)
Relationships: Philippa Eilhart/Triss Merigold
Comments: 10
Kudos: 82





	Entanglement

The portal returns them to Triss's room at the Chameleon. The air's dry compared to the humidity in the bathhouse, and nowhere near as dark and oppressive. Triss feels like she can take a moment to really breathe, finally, but finds herself swallowing as she turns to face Philippa.

Philippa's looking around. Or rather, she's turning her head, studying her surroundings.

She can't look, of course. Her eyes, always so focused and sharp… gone now.

This is the first time Triss has seen her since it happened. She didn't have space or time to take it in at Dijkstra's, not when her veins were still hot and her nerves were thrumming with the magical imprint of fire. Not when simply seeing another sorceress at all – and Philippa at that – was a joy.

The blindfold around her face is unobtrusive in colour, inoffensive really. Except Triss is utterly offended by its presence in the first place.

The only solace is that if Radovid had Philippa in his clutches today, she wouldn't escape with as minor an injury as eye-gouging. No mage would, and Philippa would receive a particularly hideous brand of torture for the last days of her life. That the loss of her eyes could ever be considered a comparatively light consequence, though, is despicable.

Unaware of Triss's morbid thoughts, Philippa turns her head in the other direction and then lets out a little scoff. "Here again," she says. The earlier weariness in her voice when they spoke at the bathhouse isn't entirely gone, but she does sound more relaxed, in that her usual tone of exasperation is slightly gentler. "No matter how many times I heard the tale I cannot understand how that fop ended up with a tavern."

"I'm grateful for it myself," Triss says lightly. "Dandelion letting us work from here is far easier than hiding. More comfortable, too. I trust him."

Triss reaches out for her arm so she can guide her to a seat and Philippa flinches at the unexpected touch. Triss sucks in a breath, forcing her immediate hurt away.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I wanted to let you sit down, but I should have said I was going to do that." She studies Philippa's unreadable expression wistfully. "It's so good to see you again."

Philippa's expression doesn't change a bit. "You'll understand that isn't mutual."

"The seeing part, no. Forgive me if I hope the sentiment might be."

A moment passes. Triss thinks she sees a slight softening in Philippa's expression, although she says nothing.

"Please relax, Philippa. You're safe here."

"I doubt that," Philippa says, yet she moves her arm vaguely in Triss's direction, tacit permission for Triss to guide her. Triss accepts gladly. Considering Philippa's general attitude towards sentiment, she's glad enough to avoid being made to feel ridiculous for caring. She thinks about seating her on the wooden chair in the corner of the room, before deciding the bed will be more comfortable for a woman who only recently regained her human body.

Philippa sits stiffly on the edge of the mattress at the foot of the bed, one hand resting for a moment on the embroidered covers before bunching and releasing them in her fist. Triss pulls the chair over to sit opposite her, seeing that Philippa follows the sound and turns in her direction.

Despite her lack of eyesight, given the familiar tension in her jaw and the slight furrow in her brow, she doesn't seem to have changed a bit. Still dignified, still formidable, still attractive...

Triss wonders if she herself hasn't changed either as she asks, "Are you in any pain?"

Philippa snorts, running her hands over the bedstead beside her, fingers tracing the cut of the wood as if memorising it. Knowing the terrain is an advantage.

"How much can you see? Are you using spells?"

"It hardly matters," Philippa replies, and Triss rolls her eyes because Philippa would undoubtedly hear it if she sighed. It's always a coin toss as to whether Philippa will actually respond to a direct question, yet Triss still asks.

"It isn't as if I'm an invalid," Philippa continues. "I'm quite capable of defending myself."

"Yes, we all saw as much," Triss laughs, through a thick feeling in her throat. "But how much of that was instinct and how much was true calculation? If I were you, and I saw Dijkstra of all people... Small world, that you ended up with him. But I suppose the world _is_ small, in our circles."

Philippa squares her shoulders. "I could say something similar about your current company. Speaking of which, the witcher said you'd explain everything. I'm waiting."

"You can wait a minute longer." Triss leans forward. "What on earth possessed you to trust Arthur de Vleester? You must have at least suspected he had his own agenda."

Philippa crosses her arms, the picture of indignance. "Other people's agendas are generally far too petty to waste a thought on, Triss. Now, I was under the impression time was of the essence. We both know the witcher wouldn't bother with me if it wasn't, or if you hadn't asked him for assistance. Clearly you still have him wrapped around your finger. Or around some part of you, anyway," she adds in a low, mocking tone, making the back of Triss's neck prickle. "But if you have time to make small talk then I'll take this opportunity to freshen up."

She bends over to remove her shoes, which are of course damp from sewer water. The angle gives Triss a view down Philippa's cleavage and she blinks before returning her gaze to Philippa's blindfold.

"Fine," she says. Frankly, she's too strung out from the events of the previous hours (days, weeks, actually) to summon the energy to either pursue the Wild Hunt or argue with Philippa Eilhart. "You're no good to us hungry and exhausted anyway."

"Exhausted?" Philippa snaps. "I might as well have been asleep for the past several months. I'm wide awake. And recent events have reminded me that I haven't had a decent bath in just as long. You'll explain while I bathe."

"How efficient," Triss chortles, standing up. "I'll call for a tub."

"I told you I'm not an invalid."

"And I already told you I know that. But I'm not interested in inviting trouble, not even the chance of it. Not now."

"So it's not quite as safe here as you claimed, Triss?"

Triss sighs. "I know what I said, but I also said I trust Dandelion. The whole world's against us right now. So yes, I trust Dandelion, I trust Geralt, I trust we'll be safe in their company. I just can't afford to trust anyone else." She wishes that Philippa could look back at her and see the seriousness in her eyes, but she has to hope she can hear it in her emphatic tone instead. "What I really meant is that you're safe with me."

It takes her by surprise when Philippa slowly inhales, and then exhales. It feels like acknowledgement, albeit tainted by the fact she's not willing to say so.

Philippa runs her hand over her own bare arm, as if in thought, and then nods. "Of course, I have the perfect disguise," she says like she's adding it to a comment she said aloud. In a burst of bright magic, she transforms into her owl form and perches on the end of the bed.

Triss gives Philippa a wry smile and shakes her head. "I have to hand it to you, that'll work. They might not even notice you."

Philippa-as-owl swivels her head towards her as she speaks, effortlessly smooth. The blindfold is still on. Triss wonders if Philippa enchanted it to stay in place, permanently hiding the ruin beneath.

She leaves the room to call for food and a bath, smearing the makeup beneath her eyes, rumpling her hair and putting fatigue into her voice as she does. The tavern maids are swift to bring her a platter of food and a bottle of wine. The bathtub and a tray of bottled oils follow, with jugs of scalding water close behind.

True to form the staff don't notice the bird in the room until halfway through the process, and accept Triss's story about how the owl must have escaped, given the absence of the band around her leg. As for why she's back at the Chameleon, well, perhaps she developed a taste for tavern food while with Zoltan.

Philippa-as-owl claims one of the slabs of chicken on the food platter and swallows it down whole.

Soon enough the maids exit the room, leaving Triss to ponder which combination of oils best suits the conversation to come. Relaxing, or revitalising? The bottles clink against one another under Triss's thoughtful fingers.

Behind her, Philippa morphs back into a human. A brief golden light sweeps over the furniture, accompanied by the scent of feathers and magic. The aroma's lost as Triss mixes lemon, rosemary, and sweet thyme with a carrier oil.

Most of her attention is on exactly where to start and how much information to share when she turns away from the dresser to the bathtub. It's certainly not on the possibility of Philippa being naked, which she is.

She's unbraiding her hair, dark locks stark against her pale shoulders. If Triss has ever seen her with her hair down before she can't remember it. It's long enough that it spills down past the tops of her breasts almost as far as her nipples, islands in an ocean of pale skin.

A sudden explicit vision has Triss bunching her long hair in her hand and using it to tug Philippa's head back, exposing her neck for Triss's tongue, and a longing chill spreads from her chest to her groin.

"Sorry, give a girl a warning next time!" she says quickly, dragging her gaze to Philippa's face.

Philippa's expression reflects a vague combination of surprise and scorn. She crosses her arms across her breasts; Triss is very aware that the rest of her body is still on show. "You'll have to direct me," she says implacably.

Triss is also very aware of her own fast heartbeat. She quickly steps to the bath and adds the essential oils, using her arm to swirl the water.

"Mmm, that's wonderful," she remarks, for the water is delightfully hot and the room is already starting to smell quite lovely too. She guides Philippa to the tub with a hand at her elbow, keeping her eyes firmly on the other sorceress's face. "I'm just a tiny bit jealous."

"I hope it's as good as you say. I have some doubts considering the state of the clientele here. Present company excluded, of course."

Triss smiles at the unexpected comment, but she doesn't resist the opening to tease, even though she'll regret it next time Philippa refuses to acknowledge that they care about each other. "Philippa, I thought you despised small talk. Did you miss me after all? Or do you just like having a mouth again instead of a beak?" She takes a seat on the chair again as Philippa sinks to her shoulders in the bath.

"Frankly that is nice," Philippa says.

"Not being an owl or the bath?"

Philippa purses her lips. "You know very well it's both." She rolls her head back into the water, wetting her hair. Triss eyes the delicate arch of her stretched neck, her pulse fluttering beneath the skin.

It's much longer than she expects before Philippa sits up, water trickling down her jawline. Perhaps that's why her thoughts wander to the last time she had the opportunity to gaze at Philippa's throat without being disturbed. She didn't merely look, that was for sure.

Triss stirs herself from her contemplation and asks, "Feeling better?"

"Infinitely." Philippa imperiously puts out a hand. "Pass me the soap, please. And tell me everything."

Although she places the soap in Philippa's palm, Triss absolutely does not abide by the rest of the command. She doesn't doubt that Philippa knows she'll leave some things out. When it comes to other sorceresses, the battle is always finding out what and why.

By the time Triss has finished explaining why they need Philippa's help and why she should agree, they've finished the food platter and Triss is halfway through her second glass of wine. It's then that Philippa stretches her arms out along the rim of the bathtub, cocks her head and says, "I'm sure Tancred offered you something substantial in Kovir. So will you go there after all of this? Once you're done playing the hero for every mage and witcher in the land?"

"Until recently I was just happy to make it out of Novigrad alive," Triss says, sipping her drink. "And we may not defeat the Wild Hunt."

Philippa snorts, fingering the surface of the scented water. "Don't belittle me."

"I'm still thinking about what happens afterwards."

That isn't a lie. The flowers outside the quiet house in Kovir that King Tancred has offered to her were already a fond memory by the time she arrived at Kaer Morhen to be reunited with Geralt and Ciri. Now it's bittersweet, because while it's still her dream to hold such influence it isn't her dream to have nobody to come home to.

"An ally like yourself in Kovir could be beneficial," Philippa says, "should it so happen you decide to settle yourself there."

"You've already figured out your next moves?"

"Hardly," Philippa says. "The pieces aren't all on the board yet. I need time to think. And as it happens, a more clear understanding of your intentions. Your willingness to put yourself in harm's way because of your feelings for Geralt continues to baffle me."

Triss frowns because the reason is self-evident and she hates that Philippa is mocking her again for falling for Geralt in the first place. "I know you don't understand that, but you could do me the favour of leaving it alone."

"That's difficult when you're one of the people charting the course of history alongside me."

She can't think of any way to respond to that comment that doesn't insult them all, so she just makes a face that Philippa can't see and swallows a mouthful of wine.

After a pause, Philippa continues, more softly. "Nevertheless, your divided loyalties have caused some grief in the past. But once all this is over, and we've seen how the cards fall, perhaps there won't be two sides for you to... tear yourself apart over."

This question about her intentions will be asked of her again and again, and Triss knows she might regret not giving up the answer of her own accord. But she's not about to give anything away to Philippa's false sympathy. "If only anything were as simple as that," she says with a wry smile, finishing her glass of wine.

"I hope that even if it weren't, you'd finally give the Lodge your proper attention."

The rebuke is clear. As is often the case with Philippa, Triss takes it on the chin, uninterested in explaining herself again.

Philippa shifts position to tie her damp hair back into its customary braids. As she moves her arms upwards around the back of her head, water drips off her biceps and down the exposed column of her neck. Her shift in position pushes her breasts forward invitingly below the surface of the water.

Triss's attention to the conversation lapses, returning to the gentle thrum of desire beneath the surface of her skin.

And why shouldn't it? Yennefer's still searching for Rita and as soon as Triss and Philippa departed the bathhouse Geralt presumably went to find and assist her. They'll probably be away for hours, quite possibly longer.

Yennefer and Geralt work together for Ciri. They always will. Regardless of any djinn's magic, they're bonded forever. Thinking of them together makes Triss feel ugly inside, even as she loves them individually.

Forgetting about that has always been easiest in someone else's arms.

It's been a long time since she's really touched Philippa. The trials of power litter the time and space between them, lovers and betrayals and sheer distance too, and she knows why – wouldn't change it, can't anyway. There was always something so urgent to do and too many people in the room, or someone else who satisfied them.

Right now there's neither, and she's had just enough wine to mean she's unsuccessfully fighting the urge to wet her dry lips against Philippa's skin. Of course she is, she reflects – they've both been betrayed by lovers in the recent past.

"I have an idea," she says, her voice thick in reaction to the simple image in her mind of getting out of her clothes and in between Philippa's legs, "on how to give the Lodge my attention right now."

Philippa stops mid-motion, braids messy. The room becomes quiet except for the distant sounds of the street outside and the tavern below, and these fade away too until Triss only hears the sound of their breathing.

A droplet of water falls from Philippa's elbow into the water below. The surface breaks and ripples, a mirror of the sudden tension and expectation.

"Tell me more about this idea," Philippa says, and Triss surges forward, pressing her lips against Philippa's and inhaling her gasp before either of them can start thinking again about making a better world.

Philippa matches her intensity immediately, twining one hand in Triss's hair to drag her closer. She smells clean and herbal. As she turns into Triss's body, her other hand grips the edge of the tub tightly, right next to Triss's breast. Triss grabs the tub too, placing her hand over the top of Philippa's, before swiftly running her fingers over Philippa's knuckles, up her arm and onwards to her jaw. The bathtub's edge presses against her chest.

When she splays her fingers around Philippa's jaw and neck, her pulse beats fast and steady against the base of Triss's palm. Triss groans low in her throat and nibbles on Philippa's bottom lip, making her open her mouth.

She's warm, flushed from the hot water, and her mouth is no exception. Triss flushes too, going hot and tingly all over. She cradles her head even more firmly, holding her still as she dives deep into the kiss, immersing herself in simple, familiar enjoyment. She tastes vaguely bitter thanks to the bath oils, but mostly like a warm meal.

Philippa bites back. After three nips Triss wobbles. She leans over the edge of the tub as Philippa sinks back into the bath, breathing heavily into Philippa's mouth.

The blunt edge of the tub against her ribs quickly grows to be uncomfortable. Triss ignores it for as long as possible, hungry for the feel of Philippa's tongue moulding against her own. Finally, though, she retreats for long enough to stand. She wants to feel how wet Philippa is in every way that means, and fortunately, she has enough presence of mind to wave her hand and dematerialise her clothes before she half steps, half falls into the bathtub.

Philippa pulls Triss down onto her lap, warm water sloshing all around them. Triss feels like she's suddenly drowning as Philippa takes her face firmly in her hands, kissing her again and again. Every sweep of her tongue against her own erodes her plans until she melts into her lap.

It's not what she imagined – but it never is with Philippa, it's always better than she imagines because imagination and memory are very poor substitutes for anything, especially sex. Philippa's wet, warm skin sliding so easily against her own feels delicious. Triss straddles her lap, and when their breasts press against each other's, Triss shivers and smiles, even more widely when she hears Philippa hum her own appreciation.

She digs her fingers into Philippa's shoulder blades, wanting, oh, wanting, and she's taken by surprise when the other woman puts her hands between Triss's legs. "Oh. Yes," she moans loudly as one set of fingers curve around her ass and the others swipe firmly through her sex, between her folds.

Perhaps it should be shocking, how hot and slick she already is after a bit of kissing, but it's not. What's shocking is the pleasure, and she squirms before pushing her hips down, chasing it.

Philippa chuckles in her ear and pulls her hand away, apparently pleased rather than shocked by how hot and slick she is. She then waves that same hand in a gesture that encompasses the entire room. Triss's nerves tingle in recognition of magic – Philippa's casting a silencing spell – but also in response to the light catching on her wetness on Philippa's fingers.

The sight makes her wetter.

Philippa starts nibbling on the side of her neck instead of returning to the obvious task at hand. Triss huffs in frustration.

"Be patient," Philippa murmurs.

"Patient?" Triss repeats, rolling her hips again. "Why?" This time she finds Philippa's abdomen, though it's hard to achieve anything close to satisfaction under the water. "Just fuck me, Phil."

"Don't call me that," Philippa says.

Triss resents that she's brought a former lover into the atmosphere without even saying a name. She's sure neither of them wants to be reminded of Dijkstra. "That's exactly why you need to just let go and fuck me."

Philippa growls and nips the flesh below her throat hard enough to make Triss wince. From the pain, it's clear there'll be a mark later. Philippa soothes the wound immediately with her tongue, sucking and licking until the sting becomes a tender ache and Triss is squirming again before pulling her closer again.

This vision of _Philippa Eilhart_ , naked and gleaming underneath her, is dangerously erotic. Triss pictures her tongue stroking through her folds and shudders.

She sees Philippa smirking again as the other sorceress shifts to take her mouth in another heated kiss. "You want it fast, then," Philippa mutters.

"I want more than one," Triss says. She catches her hand in her own and there's a brief struggle between them before Triss wins her prize, which is trapping Philippa's fingers against her sex again. Philippa's the one to huff this time.

"I need it," Triss admits, burying her face between Philippa's neck and shoulder and layering open-mouthed kisses on top of one another there: one, two, three, another. "You know I can't—ah—think straight until—"

"I don't want you thinking at all."

"You know what I mean," Triss moans through a laugh, grinding her clit against their joined knuckles. Just her intention to say the words _until you make me come_ makes her gush warm and slick on to Philippa's fingertips, tangible despite the water.

"Impatient," Philippa groans. Her thumb circles Triss's clit and Triss jerks into the external touch, gasping, "Yes!"

There's always been a raw edge to her desire that needs sanding off through her first orgasm before she can be touched with anything resembling sophistication. Afterwards, however, she can get lost in sex for hours, if given the chance. She'd love to get that chance today.

Philippa rakes her nails down Triss's spine. She bows away from the sting with a wordless noise, rubbing herself extravagantly against Philippa's body and moaning. Philippa's arm around her waist tightens briefly, steadying her before her hand continues to its desired destination.

Any thought of speaking is lost as Philippa slips her fingers deep inside her, fast enough that Triss gasps with pleasure while she shakes and clenches around them. She holds Philippa tightly until the compulsion breaks when she presses against her clit again with her other thumb.

"I want you to fuck yourself," Philippa says. "Don't keep me waiting."

Her haughty confidence makes Triss light-headed and keen to obey. "Like this?" she asks as she rides Philippa's fingers back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

Philippa hums with satisfaction. "Like that. But harder."

"Oh," Triss moans, feeling hot and shaky and shameless. She tosses her head. "Oh, fuck."

She braces herself on Philippa's shoulders while Philippa uses both hands to please her. Her talented fingers slip in and out, in and out, in and out, and her thumb slides round, round, round. Triss is reminded all over again that she can never truly deny it when someone calls her impatient, needy, a whore. She adores feeling this way.

She won't last long. The corkscrewing tension is becoming unbearable. The water makes it impossible to slam her hips down with gratifying force so she begins to grind forward each time she pushes down, holding Philippa's wrist to pin their hands where she needs them.

Suddenly Philippa drags her tongue wetly along Triss's collarbone over to her breast, just above her pounding heart.

"Faster, Triss," she orders, wrapping her lips around Triss's hard nipple.

Triss has no time to even think about complying. As soon as Philippa sucks she comes with an eager and filthy moan, the sensation in her nipple acutely mirrored in her clit.

Philippa doesn't stop, though she doesn't suck again. Her tongue continues to trace circles around Triss's areola until she recovers.

"Philippa," she murmurs, breathing hard through the tail-end of her orgasm, looking down at the other sorceress under heavy eyelids. Belatedly she realises Philippa's bearing her whole weight and she drops back into the water that she'd reared out of.

"Fast enough?"

Triss laughs breathlessly. "Yes. As fast as we both wanted," she answers, tilting her head. She wants more, and she wants Philippa to want more. She stays quiet for a moment before deciding she has more to gain than lose at this point. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm getting there," Philippa says.

That she gives as much as this feels as sweet as it did in the bathhouse.

"Good." Triss rests her forehead against the other woman's. "Because I'm just getting started," she whispers, rolling her hips suggestively.

She's still wet and her sex drags deliciously over Philippa's knuckles. It's devastating that she can't truly see what a wanton mess Triss is in her lap. Triss consoles herself with the fact that they can both feel it.

"Well, if you're now able to contain yourself for more than a minute, I'm going to fuck you properly," Philippa says.

"Yes." Triss consents to it eagerly and raggedly, the ache between her thighs barely soothed.

"Up," Philippa commands. When Triss stands, her hands linger for a moment before one settles on her hip. The other slides around to caress her ass. Then Philippa slaps her there, hard.

Triss moans, knees nearly buckling. It's a far cry from her reaction to Philippa's earlier bite. Philippa squeezes her tingling ass firmly and presses her nose against Triss's pubic mound. Her breath ghosts across her clit before she licks along the hard muscle between Triss's hip and her crotch.

"Yes," Triss says again. She must seem desperate; hopes she does, because she is.

She strokes Philippa's head before taking hold of one messy braid and tugging – upwards, though, not forwards, because the angle is poor and there's no way Triss is wasting her effort here when there's a bed nearby upon which she can spread her legs all the way.

Much to Triss's surprise, the other sorceress resists. She's only surprised for a few seconds though, the emotion being cast aside when Philippa slaps the back of Triss's thighs again, making her burn. Then she cups her ass in both hands and pulls her forward.

The first touch of the tip of her tongue against her clit makes Triss swear. It feels good, of course, how could it not? But it's not nearly enough.

"Philippa, the bed."

"Don't speak," Philippa says, her voice slightly muffled and vibrating. Triss's head swims and her hips twitch.

"But—"

"I said don't," Philippa snaps, a note of disapproval in her voice. She digs her hands into Triss's ass to hold her still and resumes licking.

The warmth of Philippa's lapping tongue sends pleasure fanning out through her pelvis. Triss capitulates almost instantly, spreading her legs as much as she can and bearing down as the other woman does all of the work. It feels like no time at all passes between protesting and panting out her pleasure. All she can really do is dig her nails into Philippa's scalp in encouragement as her hips rotate in time with Philippa's relentless onslaught.

Abruptly it ends. "No," Triss complains, fighting to open her eyes. "Why are you stopping?"

Once she manages she's greeted by the sight of Philippa smirking to herself again. "You—" Triss starts, but stops herself before she regrets her choice of words.

Still, Philippa clenches her jaw. Her eyebrows furrow. In her mind, Triss can see her narrowed eyes and heat pulsates through her.

The reality is that damned blindfold. She tries not to miss Philippa's piercing glare and thinks instead about how she's fortunate. Philippa would not be above tormenting Triss – or denying her entirely – to try to punish her for being ungracious.

"Impatient," Philippa says, low, similar enough to Triss's imagination that she trembles again.

"Yes," she agrees, instantly proving it by trying to put Philippa's mouth back to work. Philippa hums, unable to resist the force but dodging the intended destination by nipping along the crease of Triss's thigh instead. Soft first, then more firmly.

"Philippa!"

Philippa chuckles, husky and wicked, and it's the sexiest thing Triss has heard for ages. She dives back in all of a sudden, her enthusiasm working Triss back up again at such speed that as soon as she feels the unexpected slide of a finger up into her pussy the hot twist deep inside her body bursts, as though it's a physical thing Philippa has reached inside and touched. It washes through her like a wave breaking against a beach, rushing up the sand until all the energy is gone. Her gasp is nearly as soft.

Her wetness seeps down the insides of her thighs. Philippa gathers it up with fingers and tongue. Watching her lick arousal off her hand makes Triss's head swim again.

She deliberately lets out a soft, coy moan. "Let's move this to the bed," she suggests.

Philippa just slaps the back of her thigh again. In the grand scheme of things, it's a very mild rebuke of her very obvious motives for moaning like that. Triss suspects Philippa wouldn't be nearly so lenient if she knew the lay of the land.

As it is, she enjoys running her hands over Philippa's shoulders again. Thanks to the oils, her skin's slightly slippery and as smooth as silk. Triss's own skin is silky smooth as well. Philippa's hands slide up the front of her body, settling on her breasts, where her thumbs draw leisurely across Triss's nipples. Her lips follow the same route as her hands, gliding slowly past her belly button and up to the base of her ribcage.

Triss looks down, trying to memorise this moment for the next time she's alone. She wonders whether she tastes like citrus or rosemary – or if Philippa still can't taste anything except her pussy.

Philippa feels her tremble and mutters, "What are you thinking about?" into the bumps of her ribs.

"How I taste," Triss says quietly.

Philippa presses a kiss to the underside of her left breast for a second before she begins to suck. Instantly, Triss can't quite catch her breath, especially when teeth are introduced. The pressure develops slowly enough that Triss can't outlast it, and for at least a second or two she gasps with pleasure before the sensation sharpens into pain.

Philippa's lips disengage with an audible pop. At once the pain is blunted and when Philippa licks her lips and says, "Control yourself," the dull, throbbing pleasure overtakes again.

Triss is familiar with Philippa being the one in control and considering she's spent the last few months very much not in control it's not a shock she's rapidly reclaiming her power. But Triss spent the last few months in control of quite a lot of things, and she knows more than Philippa, and she's getting wonderfully reacquainted with just what happens when she's _impatient_ and how blissful it is. This thrill, which tingles from her scalp to her toes, makes her lean down to Philippa's ear and try to bait her more aggressively.

"You don't think it'd be hot?" she says sweetly. "Me sucking myself off your lips?"

"I don't," Philippa says darkly. Triss feels her insides clench at the tone and her heart races as the leader of the Lodge of Sorceresses stands fully. The strong scent of lemon and herbs and sex that accompanies her, not to mention that she's still cupping her breasts, makes Triss dizzy.

Philippa adjusts her stance, her nose nudging Triss's temple before brushing across it to her hairline until her mouth is so close to Triss's ear that the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

"Unless it's on my terms, not yours," she breathes.

Triss barely contains her moan of agreement. She badly wants to nuzzle back. She doesn't though, because this isn't nuzzling, just teasing.

For a few moments, they breathe in each other's space. The pulse deep within her belly drums incessantly, like the bards playing for the patrons on the ground floor but so much louder, a beat she can't ignore. Triss begins to feel like she's going to collapse back into the water, and that it will fill her up and trickle out of her until she dissolves entirely.

The need becomes too much to endure without action. She grabs Philippa's arms and shudders with relief when Philippa kisses her heavily, all tongue and teeth. She kisses back desperately, seeking out her taste, but she can't find anything except the flavour of wanting more.

Philippa squeezes her breasts firmly, causing Triss to groan with enjoyment, before entangling her hands in Triss's hair again. The shot of pain as she tugs it free gives Triss a stinging feeling all over, pins and needles stabbing her repeatedly.

"Bed," she gasps, struggling to tear herself away, even though she has to get out of this bath right now before she implodes. "Take me to bed. Please."

Philippa seems to come to life in her grip, a sound a lot like a growl leaving her lips. It's the word please, certainly. She loves it when people beg. Much to Triss's shock, however, she vocalises it.

"Listen to yourself," she hisses. She actually sounds angry, and Triss whimpers, breath shortening. Desperation isn't actually a turn-off to Philippa. The real reason for her rage is obvious. Blindingly.

She doesn't have to say it, doesn't have to answer when Triss gasps, "You wish you could see me?"

She means it to be ever-so-slightly teasing, enough to rile Philippa up to a state where she might throw Triss down and make her scream enough to lose her voice. But it sounds more longing.

Triss knows the answer is yes. But she wishes she could listen to her say it. Her tone would be so loath and hot and Triss wonders if she could come from that alone.

Probably not. Oh, it would be exhilarating to try, though.

Triss quickly climbs out of the bath and fumbles to help Philippa get out safely too. She's as slippery as an eel – they both are thanks to the oils in the water. Philippa grunts as she lifts her leg over the edge of the tub, trembling slightly. Triss wills herself to remain stable as Philippa leans on her, like a rock pillar in a pounding ocean, even though the object of her desire is soaking wet and clinging to her.

It takes so much effort not to buckle. As soon as Philippa's on two steady feet Triss backs up towards the bed, pulling at Philippa insistently. Even though it's barely three steps she almost trips as if she were a drunk teenage version of herself that she'd never been. Philippa follows in her wake, her hands in Triss's, her mouth open in a snarl.

"I wish you could see me," Triss admits, falling backwards onto the bed. Her body's throbbing all over, her pussy clenching around nothing. It's a terrible feeling and now that she's finally not standing up anymore she wastes no time pulling her knees up to her chest and sliding two of her own fingers inside herself.

Philippa stands over her, dripping wet. It's much sweeter to imagine she's drinking in the sight of Triss splayed out below her than the truth.

"Philippa," Triss moans, tilting her hips up as she starts to fuck herself.

Philippa's down on the bed in a flash. She yanks Triss's wrist away, pushes her folded legs apart and without preamble thrusts her own fingers inside. She's drenched and takes them _so_ easily and they both moan in pleasure.

Triss hooks her leg around Philippa, digging her heel into the dip at her waist when her damp skin makes her slip. When Philippa uncrosses her fingers she arches up on to her hand, whining, "Yes, oh, yes."

"Hold still," Philippa orders. Triss starts to relax so she can do so, but when she drops slightly Philippa makes a beckoning motion that causes Triss to twitch and demands, "No, here."

Triss valiantly pushes back up, groaning in pleasure as she feels Philippa come to rest a bit further inside. For a few moments, Philippa torments her like this, wiggling her fingers deep inside Triss without withdrawing or touching any other part of her body.

Triss moans, lost in the feeling of her full pussy, in the tremble of her muscles holding the position, in trying to breathe as Philippa continues to finger her slowly. The need to move in pursuit of her orgasm spreads from her core with every slow curl Philippa makes. She tries to distract herself, her gaze flitting from the beads of sweat and water along the edge of Philippa's hairline to the furrows of concentration lining her forehead. But it's just as hard to ignore how good she feels when she can watch Philippa so ardently absorbing the sensation of Triss squirming on her hand.

"Philippa," she pleads before long.

"What was it you said, Triss?" Philippa tilts her head, pretending to be thinking. "You can wait a minute longer."

"I don't think I can," Triss moans, unable to maintain her stance, her hips sagging.

Philippa moves with her as she collapses. Her fingers twist wonderfully on the way out of Triss's wet sex and then plunge back inside forcefully. Triss moans again, the force jolting her and making the damp bed covers below her chafe against the bare skin of her shoulders.

Philippa rapidly builds a rhythm, using the power of her hips to increase the speed of her drive in and out of Triss's body. She places her free hand on the bed beside Triss's chest for support and leans forward, breathing heavily above her. Triss smells lemons.

She reaches up to touch her determined expression, fingers against her scalp and in her hair, holding on. As she rocks her hips into Philippa's thrusts, her thumbs catch against the damp fabric of the blindfold.

It isn't intentional, truly, but Philippa flinches away. "Stop thinking about the damn blindfold," she snaps. She quickens the pace.

"I didn't—wish—see you," Triss pants, and then gives up. She's becoming incoherent. Every thrust has her crying out, sharp and high.

"Close your eyes," Philippa orders and Triss does. Her world narrows down to the longing jolting up her spine and down her legs, how their bodies slide together, the way each thrust pulls more and more arousal out of her. It smears across her thighs and over Philippa's hands and trickles down the crack of her ass.

Her clit is so swollen that she knows the slightest touch will set her off and she can't wait. But she does, she does wait, her cries growing louder, her eyes tightly shut.

"Oh, fuck," she groans.

"Is that the best you can do?" Philippa says above her.

Triss quakes in place and cries, "Please!"

Philippa cups her pussy then, grinding the base of her palm hard against Triss's clit; she's too wet for one thumb to get any purchase. Triss chokes on her cry. The fire catches and burns through the barrier of Triss's restraint into the boiling cauldron at the heart of her thighs.

She comes and the scream escapes. A high-pitched noise erupts out of her mouth, some animalistic sound in between a whimper and a moan and a squeal. The strong smell and taste of thyme overpower her senses, even though nothing is happening to either her nose or her mouth. Her body convulses around Philippa's probing fingers, which keep sliding in and out, encouraging her to climb higher.

Abruptly they encourage the exact opposite and make her shriek and squirm instead. Her right hand flies down defensively but as soon as she grazes Philippa's arm, Philippa snatches her hand, twisting and pinning it beneath Triss's ass.

"You don't honestly think you're done, do you?" Philippa laughs at her. Triss freezes as much as she can when she's panting like a blacksmith's bellows.

Thankfully Philippa stops moving her hand, though sitting in her palm like this again is so close to the edge of being excruciating that Triss still whines a little.

She becomes aware that there's a scorched scent in the air, and that her hands itch with residual magic. She daren't glance away when Philippa is so intently focused on her, but she notices a warm yellow glow in the room and faint shadows cast across the walls. Candlelight. The candles on the dresser. She must have either unwittingly set them alight or her pleasure caused existing flames to flare.

It's humbling to recognise the power the leader of the Lodge has over her body and her magic as well as her head.

Philippa murmurs, "Look at you. I don't need eyes to know you can do better than that."

She releases Triss's arm and runs her fingers from her hip across to her crotch. The softness of the touch is unexpected. Even though the aftermath of her previous orgasm hasn't fully ebbed away the embers of arousal spark inside her again. Triss shivers, spellbound, tiredness dissipating. She leaves her hand where it is under her own body, liking the discomfort.

Triss stares up at Philippa, enchanted: the light sheen of sweat across her body makes her glow. As she waits, excitement rising, Philippa seems to be waiting as well, flexing her fingertips thoughtfully upon the damp skin of her crotch. 

"Why are you waiting?" Triss groans. She wiggles her hips, self-consciousness gone.

"I'm deciding how to make you come this time," Philippa says, her composure making Triss's insides liquefy. She bites her lip, eyelids fluttering momentarily as she feels wetness spill out of her pussy.

"I think a repeat performance first," Philippa says.

Her fingers dart up to Triss's clit and start rubbing circles over it. Triss yelps, hand flying over her mouth. Using her thumb, Philippa spreads her open, then curls her thumb just into the entrance of her pussy, getting one knuckle deep. Then she retreats.

As she dabs her thumb lightly in and out, a filthy sucking sound fills the space between them. Triss loves it, moaning into her own hand. She's closed her eyes again and the ever-present colours on the backs of her eyelids are swirling as if they're spectral, darkening and brightening with her rapid pulse.

"More," she whispers, half in a daze, hoping that Philippa's own clear desire for Triss's orgasm will outweigh her enjoyment of being spiteful.

She's lucky. Philippa swaps her digits around until two fingers are pressing deliberately inside her eager pussy, making her toes curl. Philippa almost immediately makes a frustrated noise and to Triss's dismay she pulls out.

"No," she whines, clenching like crazy to keep her inside.

"Roll over," Philippa instructs. Triss whimpers. "Roll over," Philippa repeats firmly, squeezing her ass. 

Doing her best to ignore how weak she feels, Triss does so. Philippa doesn't give her much room to manoeuvre, so when she starts to turn the wet, sticky heat of her sex drags against Philippa's thigh. She groans and grits her teeth, bucking against her instinctively.

Philippa hisses and slaps her ass quickly. "Roll over!"

Once Triss has gotten on to her front, Philippa instantly holds her down by the hips, her thumbs stroking aimlessly. Triss exhales through her teeth, aching and hoping and waiting for Philippa's touch. She stretches beneath her pressing hands, and the threads in the bed covers catch against her nipples and tickle her pubic mound.

Philippa shifts above her, and Triss suddenly feels the heat of her body as her own as she straddles Triss's thighs. Slowly, she sinks down to sit on the back of her thighs. Her sex presses against Triss's ass, scorching hot and so slick.

"Oh, Philippa, fuck," Triss moans out loud the moment she feels the new contact. Her own pussy throbs, echoing the arousal she can feel just inches away. Philippa's so far from unaffected Triss marvels at the self-discipline allowing her to ignore her own desire and tease them both like this.

Over her moan, she hears Philippa humming as well. She moves her hands, scraping her nails up Triss's spine to her neck, making Triss hiss and wriggle against her. She'll have a series of red raised lines there a few hours from now. When she scratches over Triss's raw shoulders, the sting causes Triss to arch her shoulder blades, swearing.

Philippa leans down quickly, putting her mouth on the nape of her neck, nose in her hair. Her nipples and breasts crush deliciously against Triss's back. Triss whines and twists her head, throwing a hand behind her to paw Philippa's ass, searching desperately for Philippa's lips so they can kiss. She can't quite turn all the way, can't use her arms thanks to her position on her stomach, but Philippa grabs the other side of her head and pulls her the rest of the way. It's less of a kiss and more Philippa mouthing at Triss's lips as Triss tries to lick her, feeling dizzy with lust. It hurts but in the best way.

All the while, Triss wriggles and Philippa grinds on her, sliding across the backs of her legs and the curve of her ass. It drives Triss wild with hunger, wanting to feel more and more of her sleek arousal on her body. She wants to be covered in sex.

"Get on your knees," Philippa mutters, and releases her head. Triss groans, panting from a combination of relief and need. For a second she waits for Philippa to move, but Philippa doesn't. There's no room between them at all.

Triss realises the other woman wants her to lift them both. She blows out a breath and plants her hands against the bed before pushing up into a kneeling position. Almost before Philippa slides off Triss is missing her wetness and closeness, even though her breasts are still pressing against her back.

Finally, though, two fingers return to her slick pussy, gliding inside effortlessly. Triss instantly moans and greedily rocks back on to them. She doesn't immediately notice that Philippa has slipped her other arm around her, holding her snugly below her breasts, and is tugging insistently.

Triss blinks sweat out of her eyes before pushing up again, so that she's on her knees alone, leaning back into Philippa such that they're touching along the planes of their bodies, back to front. Although the angle of penetration becomes shallower, moving positions with Philippa's fingers still inside her makes her swear.

Philippa builds the pace more slowly this round, alternating thrusts with smearing her fingers around Triss's clit. Every time she leaves Triss cries and pushes her ass back desperately, trying to find her again, and then when she reaches under or around and touches her clit she bucks her hips forward, seeking more friction.

They rock together, Triss throwing her head back over and over onto Philippa's shoulder, her moans matching Philippa's incessant rhythm, rising in the heady atmosphere of herbs and citrus and sex surrounding them. She has no desire to stifle herself, loves hearing her voice rising in the air.

Philippa chooses not to use her other arm for anything other than embracing Triss, although eventually, her hand starts to wander. She touches Triss all over, from her belly button to her nipple to the muscle that juts out below Triss's armpit once she reaches back to clutch at Philippa's waist. She licks the top of her spine, and her shoulders, and her pulse point, never stopping.

It's intoxicating to have all this skin-to-skin contact while she gets fucked, and Triss tells Philippa so in all sorts of ways, but most obviously like this: "Don't stop, more, yes, yes, yes."

And then, when Philippa eventually eases a third finger inside and Triss jolts out of her embrace onto all fours so she can brace herself: "Yes, you feel so good inside me, yes. So full."

"You sound like a two crown whore," Philippa says coolly, though the force with which she suddenly drives her hand deep into Triss's pussy doesn't exactly suggest she's not enjoying herself. "I don't need you to stroke my ego."

"You like it," Triss moans, against her better judgement.

Philippa's nails bite into Triss's hip, as sharp as talons. And Triss's need rises like wildfire unleashed, raging out of her control. She cries out, a garbled noise, and bucks back desperately against Philippa's fingers.

"Oh fuck, please, fuck me," she cries, pain and lust bleeding into her voice.

Somehow she's taken Philippa by surprise because she hears her inhale roughly.

"Please," she hears herself chanting, "please, I need it, please, please, I can't."

There's a second or two in which she keeps pleading, before Philippa tells her, "You can."

Despite her audible scorn, Philippa increases the speed. Triss can feel how she strains, listens to her panting, pouring her energy into the furious motion between their legs. As if in the distance, the bedstead creaks. It's erotic in the extreme.

She needs to come again. She reaches down to her own clit, the urgency of her arousal making her impatient again. How she knows when they don't touch, Triss can't fathom, but Philippa shoves her hand away.

"No, oh, please," she whimpers, grasping the sheets again as if holding onto something will actually be able to stop her from flying apart. She's totally at Philippa's mercy.

Merciful is something Philippa rarely is. "Just how impatient are you?" she hisses.

"Please let me come," Triss begs, a sensation of weightlessness blooming in her trembling knees as Philippa fucks her on all fours.

"Not yet," Philippa answers, her voice husky. Triss very clearly feels tears well in her eyes and an accompanying surge of rebellious anger that naturally causes her to clench her fist. Philippa does want this, but differently, in ways that Triss doesn't care about even if she's inadvertently providing them.

The knuckle of Philippa's fourth finger pushes against her each time Philippa slams home. Triss imagines it stretching her pussy to the point where she'll spasm and cry out and come all over Philippa's hand, and then her imagination isn't necessary any more.

Her whole body goes rigid. The weightlessness in her legs spreads down to her toes and up into her torso. Unbidden, her magic rises and the bronze light in the room changes to a fiery orange. Every pore on her body exudes a bead of sweat, and as Philippa's body overshadows her thanks to the flaring flames behind her, she hits her peak.

"I'm coming," she cries.

The pleasure overwhelms her. Triss is very distantly aware that her arms give way and she collapses face down on the bed, howling and spasming, but the rest of her is far away, spiraling into bliss.

In what world did Philippa expect her to resist this?

Chills ripple through her when she comes back to her senses, mouth open against the bed covers and tasting cottony, her own panting all she can hear. In the heat of the moment, she hadn't appreciated just how damp her body is, water and oil and sweat and their combined arousal clammy on her skin. No wonder she's uncomfortable.

The sheer weariness she feels makes her dizzy all over again. Totally exposed in her splayed position across the bed, she trembles with the sudden queasiness, and curls into herself, pelvis sore, feeling herself all down the insides of her thighs.

Her condition improves immediately. Relieved, she stares at the covers beyond the end of her nose in a daze. The design is unbelievably ugly.

At the same time as this inane notion crosses her mind, she thinks about the fact that she disobeyed Philippa, and the thought sends another shiver down her spine.

Half excited, half nervous, and her head still roiling, she rolls back and looks for the other sorceress. Philippa hasn't gone anywhere: she's less than an outstretched leg away, the same place as before, sitting now rather than kneeling, legs tucked together under her ass.

And she's staring, jaw clenched. It's the only way Triss can describe her intensity. Even without eyesight, every part of her is attuned in Triss's direction, so still and focused that Triss thinks of her as a predator waiting to strike. Owls can hunt in complete darkness, or so Triss has read. Worrying about whether Philippa can see might be the least of her problems.

Triss feels a combination of fear and anger tighten her guts for a moment, staring back at Philippa. But there's also a subdued ache for more, more, more, which begins to intensify by itself when Triss's gaze naturally goes to where Philippa's thighs are pressed together.

She longs to feel Philippa's wetness again somewhere on her body: in her mouth, under her fingernails, up against her ass again. Or all of those. Preferably in succession, she decides.

But the level of stiffness in Philippa's jaw makes Triss wary of speaking for a few moments. She could take almost anything as an affront right now. That won't do at all, and Triss muses on how to keep this going until she settles on something she hopes will disarm her.

"I'm s—" she starts and deliberately cuts herself off with a soft laugh. "Well. I'm not sorry because I enjoyed that. But I am sorry about something else."

"Are you?" Philippa spits out.

"Yes," Triss says, nodding slowly, wondering if Philippa can hear the movement of her head. Her limbs still feel sore, but many of her muscles aren't aching enough yet. "I disobeyed you."

Philippa exhales. "Since when have you cared about that?"

Her voice isn't quite as harsh as it could be, in Triss's experience, and she thinks it a good sign. She avoids answering, stays horizontal, slowly and audibly starts to shift towards Philippa. Deep inside, her desire is starting to smoulder anew.

"Let me make it up to you," she murmurs, looking up at Philippa as she slithers closer, enjoying the scratch of the rough bed covers against her belly.

She's close enough to touch Philippa by hand now, and she places one right beside her knee on the bed so Philippa will feel the dip in the covers and not be alarmed by her proximity. When Phil doesn't react, she comes in closer and extends one finger and slides it over the edge of her kneecap, fine hairs tickling.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

Philippa's left hand is just a few inches away, resting above the apex of her legs. Triss stares at her talented fingers, thinking of the pleasure they brought her. When she spots her skin is wrinkled she feels herself get wet all over again.

Taking Philippa's silence as acceptance, she places both hands on Philippa's knees and applies gentle suggestive pressure before running them slowly up her outer thighs. "I'm sorry," she breathes.

Perhaps it shouldn't be surprising that Philippa doesn't push her away, because she's going to get something she wants as well. Feeling the rigidity in Philippa's thigh muscles, though, Triss lies beside her and waits breathlessly for the other shoe to drop. It's not unpleasant, anyway, to let her fingers dance in mindless appreciation over Philippa's skin, skittering from one leg over to the other, occasionally around the delectable curve of her ass.

Eventually, she asks again, pushing gently. Philippa doesn't resist this time, and Triss turns on her side and slowly spreads her legs open, right at her eye level.

For a delirious second, she loses her breath, a bolt of longing kicking the air out of her chest. There's a dull sheen across Philippa's inner thighs and a musky smell that charges the air between them.

She's beautiful, but there are many reasons Triss shouldn't say so. She shouldn't speak, shouldn't, shouldn't…

She only stops herself by moaning. Philippa breathes in and out quickly, once, then again more slowly, like she's trying to control herself but can't. Triss moans again, too affected by these signs that Philippa wants her touch in return to underplay her reaction.

"If you're just going to stare at me, get out," Philippa says sharply.

Absolutely not.

Triss moves in closer, positioning herself between Philippa's legs. She slides her hands up Philippa's inner thighs. Delight at how sticky she is under her fingertips buzzes vigorously down in the heart of her. Hastily she hooks her leg over Philippa's so she can rub her achy clit against her soft skin and take the edge off.

"I'm sorry," she breathes, voice hot and heavy. She nudges a finger against one of Philippa's folds, listening hungrily to her tiny moan. Her blood sings when she gently pulls her open. Little pearls of arousal shine in the hidden folds of her pink, swollen flesh.

Triss feels her mouth fill with saliva like a hungry dog with a fresh cut of meat, and she has to swallow to speak, but by the time she has she knows there's nothing she could say that wouldn't be better expressed by eating her out.

All of a sudden Philippa huffs in frustration, grabs Triss's hair in her fist and pulls her forwards hard enough to make Triss yelp. It hurts and it's hot and it deftly cuts through the haze in her head.

An entirely new haze lodges in her temples as she experiences the tang of Philippa's wetness against her eager mouth. Above her, Philippa takes a sharply drawn breath. Part of Triss wanted just such a reaction, and it fans the flames of her own desire. She sticks out her tongue and laps just off-centre of Philippa's entrance, the tip of her nose snug against her soft sex.

The haze is broken once more when just a few moments later Philippa pulls her hair again. Triss makes a pointed sound of protest and pain. She'd only managed to get one good taste.

"What?" she demands, no longer feeling apologetic.

"Did you hear me?" Philippa asks.

Triss longs to snap at her. Yet it would go against what she's trying to achieve here – she'll never have Philippa's surrender, but it would be extremely worthwhile if she'd at least relinquish control for long enough to have a damned orgasm.

So instead she answers honestly, albeit not kindly. "No, I didn't."

"Tell me what Tancred offered you."

Not only is it not the first time such an exchange has been offered to her, but it's also not even the first time that Philippa's been the one to suggest it, although never in such explicit circumstances or words. Still, Triss's heart automatically sinks.

"Is that really what you said?"

"What did you think I said?" Philippa retorts as if asking about political machinations is obviously the main thing one discusses during sex.

Possibly it is, for her. Perhaps Triss shares a small portion of the blame, inadvertently giving Philippa too much space and time to get distracted when she came early.

Triss answers Philippa's original question instead. "No."

Philippa's nostrils flare.

"But," Triss continues, making sure to breathe heavily and directly over Philippa's clit, "since you've already ruined my mood, if you want to guess, I might tell you whether you're correct."

Philippa stiffens, and Triss doesn't want to wait for more of a response than that, but it's already enough to know that she should. She caresses the crease between Philippa's inner thigh and folds with her thumb, hoping with every heavy beat of her heart that Philippa isn't spiteful enough to actually deny them both.

If not for that proximity, Triss would never have noticed Philippa's minute twitch when her thumb tweaks one short, damp hair.

"You'll be his advisor," Philippa says.

"Yes," Triss replies and promptly goes back to where she was before being interrupted. The role of court advisor is so apparent that she's losing nothing by admitting it. More than that, she's gaining something unique: Philippa against her tongue for as long as she lets her. She waits for it, heart and hope in her mouth, and feels relief soothing the burn in her chest when Philippa pulls her in.

She doesn't ask Philippa whether the answer was worthwhile.

The minimum requirement of going down on Philippa comes back to her without prompting – lick all over, especially near her clit, and vary the pressure. Even though she wouldn't willingly move from that spot unless Philippa wanted her to, she suspects it's the fact that she lets herself be held in place and directed more than her technique or her dedication that gets Philippa off at first.

Hands twined loosely but immovably in her hair, Philippa rolls her swollen sex against Triss's mouth, and Triss happily follows the rhythm she sets. At first, Philippa isn't loud at all, only breathing heavily. It's all the sweeter whenever she loses herself for a second and hums, often in conjunction with a release of wetness too.

Once she's convinced herself Philippa really isn't about to shove her away, Triss decides to experiment, wondering how accurate her imagination will prove to be.

She purses her lips against the entrance of Philippa's pussy and deliberately moans, "You taste so good."

Philippa moans too, a husky, almost unwilling sound that hits Triss right between her legs. Triss has never been less apologetic about being willfully shameless when she feels a fresh burst of wetness trickle over her outstretched tongue. She curls her tongue as though collecting her arousal, and then licks firmly up to her clit, pushing her nose through her wet folds ahead of her mouth. Philippa's hips jerk wildly as her nose bumps over her engorged bundle of nerves. Triss swirls her tongue around it once before pressing her nose there again and swiping from side to side.

All at once Philippa bucks up, suddenly grinding hard against her face. Her grip in Triss's hair turns tight, hurting more than Triss expected. Her thighs clamp around Triss's head, beginning to shake. She gasps, and the sound of it makes Triss's pussy clench.

Such a long moment of silence passes as she orgasms that Triss is sure she's stopped breathing completely. She can sympathise.

Philippa's body loosens, her thighs falling open. Her limblessness ricochets into Triss's body as she's released, while the blood rush makes her head throb. Her vision narrows to Philippa's pussy, open for the taking, and she does take all over again, not caring that her neck aches.

Philippa moans, louder this time. To Triss, it's the best noise she's heard so far, and she aims to hear it again. She dedicates her attention to Philippa's growing responsiveness when she opens her mouth like _that_ or pushes her nose _there_ or curls her tongue like _this_. And slowly but surely, her heavy breaths and tiny moans morph into unreserved moans, noises that Triss knows Philippa is capable of and now gets to hear all for herself.

Time slows down, and their bodies speed up. Philippa cants her hips into Triss's mouth, flexes her fingers in her hair, strokes her scalp, hooks her ankles together in the small of Triss's back before changing her mind and running a foot down the side of her body as far as it'll reach.

At some point Triss closes her eyes, soon registering a dozen more tiny details with her other senses. This is what she wanted, and it's all the better because it's real.

Without Triss even realising she's getting close, warmth and wetness gush against her mouth as Philippa comes a second time, her hands once more like a vice in Triss's hair. The pitch of her long and loud moan changes as it goes on, getting higher and breathier. Triss moans back, accepting eagerly as Philippa's body gifts her with more than she thought she contained. They both ride her orgasm to the final drop.

Philippa collapses on the bed, and Triss tells herself to take the available moment of respite too rather than keep going, especially as the crick in her neck is extremely uncomfortable now that she has attention to spare for it. Yet she finds herself reluctant to back off, kissing her damp thighs instead, lightly drawing her teeth across her skin.

"Mm, Triss," Philippa groans.

Triss has to stop because the lightning bolt of lust triggered by hearing her own name on Philippa's lips like that is almost too much. She draws away from her heady scent just to catch her breath, just to calm her blazing libido so she doesn't come right then.

Her imagination doesn't share her need for a break, because she instantly imagines Philippa straddling her face and riding her like Triss had ridden her fingers at the start of this. She grips Philippa's hip hard, urging her to move even though she hasn't explained herself at all, swears out loud and rocks her own hips into the bed beneath her to try to find some relief.

It has the opposite effect. Her lust, previously simmering under the surface, is suddenly on the edge of boiling over and consuming her whole. She tries to stave it off. She wants to come but she wants Philippa to come a third time more; she realises she's shaking with desire for that.

"Triss," Philippa says. It's not quite a question, doesn't exactly sound like she's responding in kind, but Triss doesn't care.

"I want you to sit on my face and ride me," she says between gritted teeth, her breath coming in short, frantic bursts. "Will you? Can you let me? Please?"

"Triss," Philippa repeats, her nails pinching against her scalp as she pulls Triss's hair sharply.

The shock is severe, another lightning bolt that strikes at the very core of her. Triss whines out loud, frantic tears pricking the corners of her eyes. It feels like she's going to suffocate and her heart's going to rupture, and her every nerve will scream for every second of it.

"Sit up!" Philippa commands, sounding severe herself. Triss races to obey instantaneously, gasping as she clambers up Philippa's body, suddenly distraught with the insane need ablaze inside her. Words can't express how good Philippa feels crushed against her. Nor can they explain how torturous every touch is.

Philippa sits up too, yanking them flush against each other, Triss in her lap in an echo of their earlier positioning. Triss submits entirely, moaning into Philippa's violent kiss. All she wants is for Philippa to make it better. She always knows what to do and Triss is a stupid girl in comparison.

A whimper stutters in her throat, and Philippa wrings it into a stifled squeal when she jams her fist between her legs and forces three fingers, then finally the fourth, into her throbbing pussy.

Triss comes desperately over Philippa's hand, soaking them both all over again. Elbows locked around the nape of Philippa's neck, she squeals and twists wantonly, infatuated with the burning stretch of her pussy around her fingers, a portal of pleasure whirling bright and powerful inside her.

"Come now, let me hear you." Philippa's voice is molten against her mouth. "I know you want to."

Though the shockwave has barely passed, when she rubs her clit sloppily, Triss comes again right away with a grateful, guttural wail. Behind her, the candle flames seethe.

The sensation of leaving the sharp edge of her body behind for bliss engulfs her again. She seems to spiral above herself into the colours of her own eyes and hair, watching herself howl and arch like a bow in Philippa's arms, trying to get away and get closer all at once. Her body is taut, tight, tense, and then she goes slack, and she falls back into herself as she falls back onto the bed, out of Philippa's grasp.

Philippa follows, hands back on Triss before she can mourn the lost contact. "Triss?" she questions, hunching over her.

Triss grasps blindly for her hand, tethering herself to the real world. Once the room's stopped spinning, which takes a while, Triss curls her other hand around Philippa's neck instead. Far too loose to be anything but honest, she pulls Phil further down so she can kiss her. Long. Lingering.

Philippa sinks down and lets her.

Triss finds herself fighting off a yawn, drowsiness advancing through her body. She sighs and reluctantly breaks the kiss. "Damn it," she moans, completely worn out.

"What's the matter?"

"I want to make you come again."

"Don't be absurd."

Triss is too tired to laugh or disagree or press the point. But she is sure she could find it in herself to get the other woman off again if Philippa would find it in herself to mount her…

"So," she says instead, trying to quash or at best savour the faint rumble of her desire rather than wish for something more palpable. "Feeling any better?"

Philippa doesn't say anything and rolls to Triss's side. Her hand leaves Triss's shoulder, but sticks at her wrist. It would be nice to hear some form of answer or acknowledgement, but Triss won't push for something that doesn't matter.

"I'm sorry I lost my senses, there," she murmurs, letting herself smile even though it'll probably be audible in her voice.

"Don't apologise unless you're actually sorry."

"Oh, sure," Triss says lightly. "Except when you tell me to?"

Philippa barks with laughter and Triss grins happily, pleased by the response. She tips her head to look at the other sorceress, whose expression suggests she's surprised herself.

"I suspected you didn't feel any remorse about that little show."

"Be sorry that you made me come that hard? No, I wasn't sorry at all about that, nor just now, either. I am sorry we didn't get to carry on, though."

She's definitely still too relaxed because she should be keeping her mouth shut. But it's nice to just banter instead of feeling her heart sink under the weight of all the words she isn't able to say.

Philippa's expression becomes unreadable. "You are a tease," she says.

"I know," Triss says. "What's your point?"

"I came twice. And both times were rather enjoyable. I'm surprised to have to reassure you that is acceptable."

"Not that I don't appreciate simply being acceptable, but normally I can do better than that."

"Well, I also normally have more senses at my disposal."

"Philippa…" Triss says, frowning at the change in topic. Her words die in her throat when she spots the furrow in Philippa's forehead. Just like that, they're back to reality.

"I don't need your pity."

"No, you don't. Not when you can fuck me like that."

Philippa huffs. Triss imagines that if she had her eyes, she'd roll them. "I don't need you to stroke my ego either."

"You said that already."

"I ought to freshen up," Philippa says, not moving. "Again."

"Well, you said you missed the bath," Triss remarks. Certainly, some time has passed since they arrived. They're fortunate not to have been disturbed yet. "If you give me a minute, I'll help you back in," she adds.

"Based on recent experience, your help will only help me achieve the opposite of freshening up."

"Who's the tease now? I'm in no fit state to mislead you again. Well, not unless you give me two minutes."

Philippa blows out a breath which Triss doesn't try to decipher. Neither of them move.

More than a minute goes by. It's hard to tell precisely what time it is: the musicians are playing downstairs as they do at all hours, music softly filtering through the floorboards, and the flickering candlelight distorts her impression of how much light there is outside.

Like any sorceress, she's perfectly capable of ignoring her own tiredness to get on with the job in hand. But she can't bring herself to move from this spot just yet. It's oddly peaceful.

The world demands so much of them both, even when they're not in the best state to answer. There's Rita to find, and the Hunt to defeat, and Geralt…

She'll have to move soon enough – Philippa will force her to in just another minute, she's sure. Until then, she's not stirring herself to fight any battles, even her own, and she'll not mention that Philippa's still holding her wrist either.


End file.
